Cold
by YenneferOfVengerberg
Summary: Set after the short story "Shard of Ice" by A. Sapkwoski. Yennefer believes she is in the right path to mend her heart, broken once again by her turbulent relationship with Geralt. However, it seems that the Destiny wants to prove her wrong. Part of the "All Roads lead to You" serie.


_All characters and locations in this story belong to Andrzej Sapkowski._

* * *

Thirst aroused her, or so she said to herself.

A feeling spread itself warm and painfully over her chest and up her neck, drying her throat. It was not a physical ache and she was well aware of its origins, it usually was triggered by memories, thoughts, or like this time, by dreams.

She slid from the warm muscular arms that were holding her, carefully to not wake up the man who shared her bed that night. She looked at him over her shoulder and despite her departure he remained soundly asleep, with his long red hair spread on the pillow contrasting starkly with its whiteness even in the dark.

Yennefer pulled the black velvet peignoir over her naked body and walked to the side table by the window. Quietly she casted a spell to lower the temperature of the water on the crystal jug. Cold water had proven to be the best remedy to quench the feeling that had waken her up and that she disguised as thirst. As she drank slowly, she observed the agitated sea, roused by the wind that announced the coming storm. The view of her chambers in the fortress of Kaer Trolde allowed her to see nothing more than the sea.

The gelid water had been not only effective on soothing her but also left her completely awake. She looked again over her shoulder to the man sleeping in her bed and she felt nothing but indifference. She shrugged to her own thoughts and opened the glass door that lead to the small balcony over the sea. She did not care if the freezing wind that pried into the bedchamber would wake him up, she even preferred if it did so.

Slowly she closed the door behind her as the stormy wind hit her and disheveled her raven hair. The night was particularly cold, as expected since the autumnal equinox, or the day of Velen as the common folk referred to it, had already passed, and soon the skelligian winter would arrive with its typical whiteness. She did not plan to stay long enough to see it.

With the corner of her eye, she saw movement inside the bedchamber; her lover had rose from the bed and was getting dressed. She did not turn around or did anything to acknowledge him, instead she just wrapped tighter the soft velvet around her body as she leaned over the stone railing.

He wondered for a while about the need to say something to her but soon enough his thoughts shifted with selfishness, and she heard him thinking and pondering if it was late enough to leave the sorceress' bedroom unnoticed. However, she was not offended with his thoughts, even if she knew that sneaking out of a lover's chamber without a word was not something very chivalrously to do, and even harlots got goodbyes, she did not care. She was not sure if it was her indifference towards him or the cold wind that was numbing her, nevertheless, she felt nothing.

Or maybe it was the time, that was supposed to heal everything, or some other cliché the foolish maidens and the uninspired poet repeated. Maybe time had allowed her to build a shield to protect herself from being hurt again. She wanted to ask them if time was able to heal the pain that the emptiness she felt caused, that not even the cold stormy wind of Skellige could desensitize.

* * *

Taken by a caprice, she decided to ride to instead of use magic. Did not take much time before she regretted her decision and cursed herself mentally. The path to Blandare – a stupidly small village right in the center of Ard Skellig – was long and dangerous, but for some moment, she stubbornly decided that riding across the island would be at least entertaining.

Her trip do Blandare was not out of pleasure, however. She had been sent to Skellige by the Chapter of the Sorcerers to retrieve a dangerous magical artifact. After almost a month of investigations, everything lead to the minuscule village of Blandare, thanks to a skelligian pirate known as Mursö Half-Tongue who had taken his bounty to the heart of the island, as far away from the ocean as possible. Yennefer had discovered that among his treasure, he had also taken the legendary adage of Marwoleth, the object of her mission.

It was imperative to retrieve the adage, Yennefer repeated to herself the orders given to her by her former mentor archmage Tissaia de Vies, the object was impregnated necromantic powers, forbidden by the Chapter of the Sorcerers, and therefore it must be collected and destroyed.

The skelligian horse neighed and agitated annoyingly pushing her out of her thoughts. Crach had given her the horse, he had even offered his company, but Yennefer declined politely. The Jarl of Skellige was showing dangerous signs of clinginess, which was also becoming dangerous for her, as Crach's wife was growing suspicious of their affair and directed her venomous looks. Yennefer shrugged. It was time to finish her task and leave Skellige anyway.

Once again, the horse whined, moving its head from side to side, and she cursed loudly. She decided to stop at the next settlement to leave the animal and just teletransport herself to Blandare. If she were as unscrupulous people believed she was, she would just leave the animal at the side of the road and take off, however she was not, and she knew that there were plenty of wolves and other creatures lurking in the forests. It was not fair to leave the horse to its certain death.

After a hour of beautiful skelligian landscape and nice weather that had made her ride almost pleasant, the road meandered towards the sea, and as expected, she reached a small fisherman settlement, one of many of its kind scattered all over the coast of the island.

The small village was made up of half dozen cabins distributed between the road and the sea. The sorceress stopped in the first one and dismounted. She tied the reins to a fence for lack of better place, while glancing at the humble house, she had seen an woman peeking from behind the door.

"Excuse me," the sorceress said with the most friendly tone she could fake. "I plan to follow my path by other means than by horseback, and it doesn't seem fair to leave this animal to its own fate."

The woman looked with an expression that mixed suspicion and fear.

"What is the trick?" the islander woman said with the typical thick accent of the region.

"There is no trick, the horse is slowing me down."

The woman let out an ugly laugh, pushing her blond hair away from her wrinkled face.

"And how'd ya go faster without a horse, ma'am? Flying?" she chuckled.

"I'm a sorceress, I have my ways." Yennefer said proudly. "If you do not want to take the horse, I'll take it to your neighbor."

"No, no, ma'am sorceress. My Ljord was putting coin together to buy one."

"All right then. Thank you." Yennefer was about to leave when the woman coughed softly to get her attention.

"Ma'am sorceress?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe ya can help… my sis Margethe lives in Rannvaig, she said a monster was attacking the village. It even killed a child, ma'am…"

"I can't help you with that," Yennefer cut her short. "You need a different kind of professional for that. All I can do for you is let Jarl an Craite know that they need help."

"No, no, ma'am sorceress, the folk in the village put together coin and hired a witcher. Terrifying creature they said, but they promised him the coin, so up the mountain he went. Margethe said that when the witcher did not return in the second day, they thought he was dead or had fled away."

"Quite unlikely, but go on, woman," Yennefer snorted impatiently.

"Margethe swears for mother Freya that he was dead when they found him in the ravines, the head of the cyclops next to him. Creatures from the devil those witchers, I tell you ma'am sorceress."

"How did he look like?" Yennefer asked feeling her pulse on her ears and her mouth suddenly dry.

"I do not know, ma'am. Anyway, he was not dead as they thought, just badly hurt. But the folk is scared to touch him and catch a curse or something."

Yennefer cursed under her breath. _Damn those ignorant fools_.

"Where is that village? Rannvaig you said?"

"Aye, just follow the road and take the right in the crossroads, no way to miss it."

"Thank you so much. It seems I won't be leaving the horse after all, I'm sorry."

 _What are the chances that the wounded witcher is he?_ She thought while taking the horse into a hurried gallop. It did not matter, she decided to help the witcher, whomever he was, so she followed the road, diverting for her own destination.

* * *

"Are you Margethe?" Yennefer asked a woman feeding the chickens behind a fence.

"Aye." The woman answered with the same expression of suspicion and fear than her sister.

"I was told by your sister that there is a hurt witcher in this village. I'm a sorceress, I can help him, so please, lead me to him."

"Aye! Mother Freya sent you!" the woman said wiping her hands on her apron and walking in the direction of a shack that seemed abandoned and separated from the other houses; It was the closest to the shingle beach. "We were so scared that he might die here and then a curse would fall upon us!"

"Nonsense." Yennefer snorted rather impolitely while following the woman. "Tell your folk to gather the witcher's coin again because he will be back into his feet soon. The only curse you must fear is the rage of a witcher that does not get paid."

The woman looked at her with wide-open eyes the color of tourmalines.

"When did you find him?"

"Hvisek, the hunter found him yesterday. They brought him to this house because none lives here. You see ma'am, we were afraid of…"

"…the curses. Yes, yes I know." She said waving her hand. "Where are the witcher's things?"

"His horse, saddle and saddlebags are on the pen over there." The woman pointed. "None took anything, we were afraid…"

"Thank you." She cut her off harshly. Yennefer's patience had reached its limit.

"Can I go?" the woman asked sheepishly, she was scared of the enchantress. Yennefer nodded and the woman left as fast as she could.

Yennefer left her horse with the witcher's. She did not recognized the saddles but also it did not mean anything, it had been a long while since the last time she saw him…

Just for precaution before she opened the wooden door of the abandoned cabin, she pulled the hood of her cloak to cover her face and casted a deceitful spell on herself.

 _Of course,_ she thought rolling her eyes to her luck.

Even on the faintly illuminated room, she recognized the white haired witcher laying on the improvised bed.

Her heart raced just at the sight of him. She shook her head and pulled herself together. The illusion she had casted on herself had been a wise idea after all.

Removing her riding gloves, she kneeled on the dirt floor besides him and she lighted the small oil lamp, placing the light source next to the makeshift bed. The witcher was laying so still it was not surprising that the folk from the village had thought he was dead. However, she knew he was in his meditation-like state induced by one of his concoctions; it was a kind of trance that allowed him heal faster by lowering his vital activity to the minimum.

More as a reassurance for herself than anything else, she placed her fingers on his neck and waited longer than usual to feel his pulse, and there it was, strong and so familiar to her. Acquainted to her was also the tingly sensation she felt when she touched his skin, inducing a soft sigh to escaped her lips.

Yennefer cursed at her fortune again. There was a time were witchers had been more abundant and yet she had never seen one before Geralt. Now that witchers were so very rare, she kept bumping into this one in particular. If she believed on fate, she would say it was pushing them together.

Tossing those thoughts aside, she focused on analyzing the ugly bruise in the witcher's cheekbone and his temple clogged with dried blood. It was clear that he had been hit very hard in the head, but he was not as badly hurt as the villagers believed.

Afraid that the magic would make his silver wolf medallion vibrate and consequently awake him, she removed it very carefully and placed it next to the oil lamp. She aimed to avoid that he became aware of her presence there.

Always watchful to remain silent and move very carefully, the raven-haired sorceress used a scanning spell to look for other wounds. She found that besides the concussion, he had a couple of shattered ribs; she imagined that they had been a great source of pain for him, but she could easily heal them and he would not feel a thing when he woke up.

She was aware that she could leave him heal by himself, he was completely capable of that, but her magic was more efficient and she did not wanted to waste her detour. She fetched water and bandages from her own saddlebag, and from Geralt's she got a small flask containing a witcher potion she knew helped him with the healing process, she left it next to his medallion for him to take once when he wakes up.

Carefully, she cleaned the wound and his blood soaked hair and whispering under her breath, she mended magically the skin on his temple and his ribs. She wanted to sooth with cold the bruise in his cheekbone, but she did not. The cool against his skin would wake him up for sure.

 _You got a new scar, witcher_ , she thought observing the shiny pink line that crossed his right temple and disappeared between his hair.

Satisfied with her work, Yennefer glanced at him. He seemed well, despite the most recent wounds. She wondered if he had found enough work in Skellige to maintain himself for the winter. She also pondered if she should increase the payment that the villagers of Rannvaig owed him, but she decided that she did not trust the overly superstitious folk. She angered at the thought that he risked himself to help ungrateful bastards like them. She wondered if he could make it to Kaer Morher before the winter…

Then she stopped herself. She knew that he would not want her to worry about those things; it would only annoy him if she did.

It was time to go.

However, at the threshold of the door she looked over her shoulder to him. She felt a strong urge to go back and wait for him to wake up with her head on his chest as she had done so many times before. She shook her head, maintaining her resolution solid and held together by the potent voice of reason resonating on her head. It did not made sense anymore to try to mend all the wrongs between them. Even if walking away once again broke her barely-healed heart.

Nevertheless, it was time to go.

Outside the shack she received pleased the cold breeze from the sea, it was precisely what she needed. Or so she said to herself.

She walked to the shingle beach, taking in its peculiar kind of sad beauty that resonated with something deep inside of her. The beach was desert, Yennefer guessed it was because the great amount of pointy rocks and boulders that pierced the water kept the anglers of the village to the other side of the cape, where the landscape was gentler and not a menace for their boats.

The sorceress choose a particularly flat boulder to sit on. She just needed a little more time alone, then she would cast a portal and she would finish her task.

"Yen," she heard Geralt's low voice calling her with the nickname that only he used, it made her heart skip a beat. The sound of the sea crashing against the rocks had concealed his already quiet steps and she had not hear him approach.

"You should not be up." She reprimanded him.

 _And I shouldn't be here_ , she scolded herself mentally, maintaining her cold façade.

"I needed to know if I was not dreaming." He said frowning. "I felt the smell of your perfume."

Yennefer had failed by underestimating the senses of the witcher; she had thought that she could hide behind the smell of the sea and the mold of the shack.

"At least sit down," Yennefer urged him, pulling her cloak to make room on the flat boulder. He complied sitting down next to her, close enough that she could feel the warm of his body on hers.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse." He admitted touching his temple and wincing. "I guess I have to thank you, but not without wondering how was I so lucky to be graced with your healing abilities."

"I was nearby," she shrugged.

"Thank you."

She nodded proudly as sole response.

"I will never understand you, witcher." She said all of the sudden, not being able to refrain herself. She looked straight ahead, to the grey sea clashing against the rocks, but she could feel his eyes on her.

"How come?"

"How can you risk yourself for those ungrateful whoresons who were too scared to help you…" She said a little starker than she intended to.

"Yen…" he sighed.

"Nevermind." She resigned. It was no longer her problem, she concluded slightly angry.

They remained quietly observing the sea as if they were waiting for the storm to come, waiting for something to change and to tear them out of that moment. She tucked behind her ear a black curl that the wind had been pushing annoyingly against her face, and when she lowered her hand, it brushed his hand very lightly. The contact sent electricity through her. Yennefer looked at him and there was so much on his amber cat likes eyes that she had been avoiding fiercely until now.

She wanted to leave, afraid of the effect he had on her. The witcher had such a pull over her that it was destroying her resolution and urged her to forget that they were not good for each other. The longer she stared at him, the more she wanted to throw herself in his arms.

The feeling must had been mutual, because he leaned in, however very slowly, as if he thought that any abrupt movement would make her retreat. She felt his warm breath on her lips, and the anticipation made her tremble. She desired him, his touch, his taste and his warmth. However, the battle within herself had not been terminated and she feared the consequences of what would happen if she give in.

Geralt must have felt her hesitation because he did not approach her further, but he also did not withdraw. Instead, he cupped her face with his calloused hand and the gesture was so familiar to her that, as it was an involuntary reflex, she leaned her cheek into his hand. She felt like his heat, undiminished by the cold skelligian breeze, was melting her and putting a temporary end to her uncertainty.

He planted a small kiss on the corner of her mouth and sighed softly against her lips, even a touch so light and chaste sent shivers down her spine. The last banner of reason in her head that kept alerting her of the mistake she was doing seemed to faint as he took her bottom lip between his, sliding his hand from her cheek to the back of her neck.

Yennefer gave in with a sigh, putting her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The touch of his lips that had begun soft and almost shy, turned into demanding and rough caresses filled with desire and longing, like he wished with one kiss to sweep away all the pain they caused to each other. He brushed her tongue briefly with his own, driving hot and cold pulses over her body. A soft moan escaped her parted lips and he pulled her impossibly closer as their kiss intensified and became more passionate.

She pulled away from him slightly, interrupting their kiss. She leaned her forehead on his, relishing selfishly for one more moment the warmth of his body so close to hers, and slowly she put herself together.

A kiss was not enough to erase the mistakes that kept them apart. Nor love or fate were enough.

"Geralt, I'm sorry." She whispered. "I can't."

His amber catlike eyes pierced her with longing, but he nodded and receded.

"I'm sorry if I leaded you on," she said quietly getting up. "We can't… it does not make sense. Do you understand, right?"

He did not answer and she did not dare to fill his silence looking for a response in his thoughts. She was afraid of what she might find.

"Take care of yourself, Geralt."

"Yen, wait…"

She ignored him, afraid of the words he could possibly say. She turned around and walked a few steps away from him. Feeling his eyes on her, she opened a portal.

Yennefer found herself back in her room in Kaer Trolde. She had conjured the portal almost absently and it was the first place that crossed her mind. She walked to the small balcony and welcomed the gelid wind that blew from the sea.

The cold had proven to be effective soothing her, and now more than ever she needed it. She felt the constricting pain spreading over her chest and throat and she knew it was not a physical pain.

* * *

 _A/N: I gave myself a lot of freedom with the geography of Ard Skellige and Rannvaig, all for the good of my plot. I'm sorry!_

 _Also, english is not my first language so I'm sorry if there if i commited any grammatical faux pas._


End file.
